


Soggy Soviet

by JantoJones



Series: Further Brief Briefings [27]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 08:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17422661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: Illya gets wet.





	Soggy Soviet

Illya Kuryakin steamed as he squelched his way from the U.N.C.L.E. parking garage into the main complex. This wasn’t just a euphemism for his anger. Water vapour was gently rising from him as exited his car. The steam was as a result of the warm weather having an effect on his sodden clothing. Behind him, he left a trail of muddy footprints along the corridors. The cleaning staff were not going to be happy, but Illya didn’t care. 

Several of the men he passed thought about making a snide comment about his state, but the expression on his face quickly changed their minds. He was definitely not a happy man. The women, however, had a different reaction. The dampness of his black trousers, and black turtleneck sweater, caused the already tight garments to cling to him in an even more attractive manner. The way his mussed-up hair clung to his forehead only served to make them want him more. Not that Illya noticed their almost inaudible sighs. 

Napoleon was working on a report in their shared office when Illya dripped his way in. It took every ounce of the American’s willpower not to laugh at his partner’s sorry state. The infamous Kuryakin glare was terrifying to most, but it washed over Napoleon.

“You seem somewhat soggy my sopping Soviet.”

“You are a funny man, Solo,” Illya replied, taking out his ‘go’ bag from a drawer in the filing cabinet. 

He dug out a dry set of clothes and returned the bag to the cabinet. He would have to hope he wasn’t sent on assignment at short notice before he could replace the garments. Napoleon grinned in that way Illya always found infuriating, causing him to slam the drawer so hard that the cabinet clanged against the wall.

“Temper, temper, Tovarisch. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“I fell.”

“You fell?”

“I fell.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Illya fixed his partner with another icy stare, but it failed to have the desired effect.

“I was observing a Thrush meeting in Central Park,” Illya explained. “When it was done, I started on my way back. Unfortunately, a small dog ran under my feet and I tripped, ending up in the lake.”

Napoleon could hold back no longer and a loud guffaw ripped from him.

“So much for the graceful man with the cat-like reflexes.”

“I am going to change,” Illya muttered, ignoring Napoleon’s jibe.

“Okay, but can I ask you something?”

Illya nodded curtly, knowing that his partner was about to make one of the terrible jokes he seemed to find hilarious.

“Did you enjoy the ‘trip’?” Napoleon asked, fighting against another burst of laughter. “And are you going back next ‘fall’?”

“Bozhe Moy!” Illya declared, before rolling his eyes and leaving his partner to chuckle on his own.


End file.
